


One of the Vulnerable

by Primarina (PastelBrachypelma)



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Aziraphale Has Feelings (Good Omens), Aziraphale's Bookshop (Good Omens), Caring Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley Has PTSD (Good Omens), Crowley Has an Anxiety Disorder (Good Omens), Crowley is Bad at Being a Demon (Good Omens), Crowley is a Sweetheart (Good Omens), Domestic Fluff, Fluff, M/M, Plague, Snake Crowley (Good Omens), Soft Aziraphale (Good Omens), aziraphale has autism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-02
Updated: 2020-05-02
Packaged: 2021-03-02 04:53:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,318
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23959486
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PastelBrachypelma/pseuds/Primarina
Summary: After their phone conversation, Aziraphale finds out that Crowley is particularly susceptible to Covid 19, and decides, bugger the rules.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 23
Kudos: 188





	One of the Vulnerable

Aziraphale heard the phone click off with a note of finality. His first knee-jerk reaction to it was: “Well, that was rude!” and that allowed him to get all huffy about it for a good long while. Then, he thought about what Crowley had said, about sleeping all the way until July. He was bound to get through all of his good books by then, and he’d have to resort to reading his Bibles which, while the misprints were entertaining, seemed a bit...soured to him, considering how everything had gone recently. It was barely a year ago, which, honestly, felt like yesterday to an immortal.

He couldn’t let Crowley sleep until July. He knew the demon was capable of it, and he was going to get frightfully bored long before then. He’d asked Crowley about foul deeds just for the excuse to leave his quarantine and do something, but he wasn’t wholly surprised by Crowley’s compassion for the humans around him. Crowley had a soft spot for humans. Well, Crowley had a lot of soft spots, actually, now that Aziraphale thought about it. Crowley was, in fact, all soft. Like a turtle, he’d encased himself in a hard shell, but deep down…

Deep down, he really was quite...nice.

Aziraphale got as far as picking up the phone and dialing the first few numbers of Crowley’s phone (666, how cliche, honestly), but he hesitated. Crowley had sounded so...hopeful, at the prospect of spending time together, and, really what was stopping them? Surely not human rules about “social distancing” and all that. It was just his own stubbornness, and to what end?

Aziraphale sat down with an encyclopedia on serpents, and tried to make himself feel better.

~

It wasn’t working.

It was dark outside the bookshop now, and Aziraphale had just come across the section in the encyclopedia on snake care in domestic situations.

“Oh dear,” Aziraphale ran his fingers over the words, as if reassuring himself that they were still there. Not even pausing to consider the time, he returned to his phone and rang Crowley without hesitation.

The fact that Crowley had picked up on the first ring suggested that he was not asleep, but there was a lot of rustling on the other end of the line, which indicated that Crowley was in bed. Perhaps he was watching some television rerun, or something like that. He knew Crowley liked good telly.

“Angel,” Crowley said gruffly.

“Crowley,” Aziraphale began delicately, not particularly in the mood to start a row, “do you get...respiratory infections?” He braced himself for the inevitable tirade…

But none came. There was only silence at the end of the line.

“B-because, Aziraphale went on, “I was reading about snakes, well...common, snakes...and I came across a section that warned about respiratory infections and, oh, I know the humans with asthma are supposed to stay indoors and take extra precautions because this terrible plague has such a bad--”

“Yes,” Crowley said quietly, which interrupted Aziraphale’s tirade.

“What was that, dear?” Aziraphale wasn’t sure that he’d heard that correctly.

“Yes, I get...respiratory infections,” Crowley admitted, and then startled tittering in a way he only did when he was nervous. “N-not that I’m contagious or anything, like. Suppose I could infect other snakes, and all, since I’ve gotten it from them before...pet shops really are a beast. No hand in it myself, mind, but I can see why Hell gave me the credit for it. Nasty business. It’s just awful, and you wouldn’t--”

“Then you would risk your health…” Aziraphale began, feeling simultaneously warm and affectionate...but also quite guilty. It was a familiar feeling, when Crowley selflessly put himself in harm’s way to protect him, or when he himself demanded far too much of the demon. “...for me…?”

Crowley sputtered out some half-formed syllables for a bit before finally settling on: “...yeah, angel.”

“Then you mustn’t,” Aziraphale decided. 

Crowley sighed a very tired, long-suffering sigh. “‘S why I’m sleeping, innit?”

“But I didn’t wake you,” Aziraphale said knowingly.

Crowley sighed again, but in a different way. A way that was weary and fatigued. “Can’t,” he admitted in a small voice. “Don’t feel safe in my flat anymore. Thought my wards could protect against anything catching me unawares, but Head Office--former, anyway--proved that wrong dozens of times.” He sighed again, and when he spoke, he sounded more like a scared child than Aziraphale had ever heard him sound, even during the Botched Apocalypse. And that hurt something in his core. “There’s...there’s so much tech in my flat. A flat-screen TV, multiple phones, even got myself one of those ridiculous smart fridges. Hell...used to contact me…”

“Oh,” Aziraphale ached for Crowley now. The demon was terrified, and Crowley’s nerves had always been more frayed than Aziraphale’s, when it came right down to it. The result of being more or less fired from his position would no doubt heighten his anxiety to dangerous levels. “Crowley...why didn’t you say…?”

“Because you seemed happy without me,” Crowley said, defeated. 

“My dear boy,” Aziraphale exclaimed, putting every emotion he felt into those words: affection, fond annoyance, love, “I may be content on my own, but everything is more enjoyable with you around.”

“Then...why not let me come over?” Crowley asked, somewhat desperately. “What is stopping you?”

Aziraphale looked around his shop and nodded to himself. “Preparations.”

“Prepar--wot?”

“I must prepare for your arrival, and anticipate anything that might happen,” Aziraphale explained. “Would you perhaps be all right for, say, a week?”

“I suppose--”

“SplendId! Toodle pip!” Aziraphale hung up before he could change his mind and then waved his hand vaguely at a coffee table until it held a varitible supply of cleaning implements. Aziraphale rolled up his sleeves. “Now then,” he said, pulling on a pair of rubber gloves, “time to get to work!”

~

Crowley was never one to forego fashion, even in a pandemic. But trying to find a good facial mask design was, he thought, slowly becoming impossible.

What’s more, he was cold. His flat’s heating had been on the fritz, so he was glad to be heading to Aziraphale’s bookshop, which was always warm and cozy, and had a lovely fireplace to boot. (Although the words “fire” and “bookshop” still admittedly set his teeth on edge.) So, because he was cold, he was wearing a knit jumper made of fine cashmere, soft as a domestic cat, and well-worn skinny jeans. Both were as black as night, of course, though the jumper had a serpent insignia in a rather fetching red. He’d switched out his usual designer shades for a fashionable butterfly shape with thin rims. A bit femme, perhaps, but when he added a red jewel to the sides of the frames, he felt like they were more his own. Besides, using masculine pronouns was more a habit than a reflection of his gender identity, anyway. (The sweater he was wearing was actually a woman’s cut. Men’s clothes were never as soft as this.)

Now for the mask. He was trying to decide between a black mask with red fasteners, a red mask with black fasteners, or a black mask with gold fasteners. After snapping his way through several color combinations, he decided on a black mask with lovely gold serpents surrounding elegant golden letters that read “Fuck Off” and blood red fasteners. Of course, he’d made himself an N95 mask, which were the most effective masks for this pandemic, but he was still tempted to stop breathing entirely the minute he left his flat.

Actually, because it had been so cold in his flat, he hadn’t really had an appetite. And even though he was bored and had been climbing the walls, even literally at one point, he hadn’t actually eaten anything since...when was the last time he and Aziraphale had dined out? Time was even more nebulous than usual to him. London was almost completely silent. It was...unsettling, to say the least. 

Not that he needed to eat, per se, but just as Aziraphale tended to get peckish, he was also capable of having an appetite. Even though he wasn’t one for sweets, hearing Aziraphale talk about all those delightful pastries had made his mouth water. Anything sweet and fresh out of the oven would be delightfully warm and mouth-watering. It was enough to make even the grouchiest old serpent purr with delight. Oh, how he yearned for warmth. He’d had to hold back his hungry whines and tempted hisses as Aziraphale was describing the sweets. And he would’ve loved to do more than just watch Aziraphale eat. 

Who knew the angel could cook anything edible at all whose recipe wasn’t 5000 years old? Astonishing. 

Crowley selected a few good wines from his collection, miracled another from a shop in Denmark, and settled them all into an oversized leather bag. (Designer, of course. And real leather to annoy all the vegans. But really, it was as vintage as a bag this style could get.) Crowley slung the bag over his shoulder, donned a pair of black rubber gloves, made sure he had his keys and phone, snarled at the plants to behave, and…

Stared at his doorknob. 

It was more scary than he’d originally thought to leave the relative safety of his flat, even though he didn’t feel very safe here. Crowley took a deep breath and opened the door. 

It wouldn’t take him long to get to Aziraphale’s bookshop, where it would be warm and cozy and, hopefully, where he’d have a bit of an appetite. Though he loved watching the angel eat, it was fun to participate in a meal, too. 

~

Crowley darted into the bookshop, hyper aware of the particles clinging to his skin and his person in a way that he normally didn’t care much about. With a shudder, he’d shed his mask and cleaned his clothes from the stench of outdoors, gloves safely disposed in the outdoor trash bin. He wasn’t...anxious, per se. Even if he got the coronavirus, he would survive it. During the Black Plague, he could’ve been discorporated if his serpentine defenses couldn't protect him from it, but this? He was strong enough to survive this. 

Probably. 

Crowley hesitated, flicking his tongue out from between his lips. It smelled strongly of disinfectant. He’d never seen Aziraphale clean anything in the old bookshop. Nothing would dare to get so dirty that it actually needed a good wash, and he was used to the vast array of dust and cobwebs covering every surface to keep customers away. 

“Angel?” Crowley asked, wandering into the center of the bookshop. Come to think of it, the space looked more...open, inviting. And it was already toasty warm. The cold blooded creature at his core was nearly melting with contentment. 

“In the kitchen, dear!” Aziraphale called from some nebulous area off to the right. (Crowley wasn’t sure of Aziraphale had a kitchen before he’d taken up baking, or if the bookshop had the right electrical kit for one.) “make yourself at home! I’ll be with you in two shakes of a lamb’s tail.” 

“Mmph,” Crowley agreed, settling down into his usual plush sofa and sighing as the familiar suede melded to his bones. He was tired; he’d been losing a lot of sleep due to nightmares, and the quarantine had really messed with his sense of time more than usual. 

Just as his eyes began to droop, Aziraphale entered and started fussing about with a tray and bottles on the low table. Crowley smelled alcohol and roused himself immediately though, to his surprise, a plate of chocolate chip cookies was the culprit. “Uhhh…” 

“I believe they’re called “Boozy Cookies”,” Aziraphale sat in his usual chair, wriggling with delight. “I found a recipe online. Quite ingenious! Using Kahlua to compliment the rich chocolate flavor...I confess I’d made rather more than are represented there.” He chuckled, but it was unselfconscious. Good. That wanker Gabriel had said some frankly awful things to Aziraphale about his weight, of all things, and he’d had a devil of a time getting over them. 

Curious, Crowley leaned forward and took a bite. Rich notes of coffee and milk chocolate greeted him, along with a delightful chewy consistency that had just a bite of salt and was perfectly sweet all around. Alcohol was supposed to burn off, but either Aziraphale wasn’t aware of that, or he’d convinced it to stay on, Crowley didn’t know, but he wasn’t about to question it. “These are good, angel,” he said, settling his spine back against the sofa. “So, I have to ask,” he licked a bit of chocolate contemplatively off his finger. “Why the spring cleaning? I’ve never seen you clean anything in your life.”

“Well,” Aziraphale’s hands fluttered, as they often did when he was excited or nervous, “I wanted this to be an ideal environment for you! Since you are prone to respiratory infections, I wanted to make sure nothing would upset your health!”

Crowley chuckled, sliding his glasses off his nose and dangling them by the stem. “Aziraphale,” he said, voice fond, “I’ve been av snake since The Beginning. This bookshop has been dusty since the 1880s. If it bothered me, don’t you think I would’ve said something by now?”

“No,” Aziraphale looked away, picking at his nails. “You are selfless to a fault, Crowley. You would discorporate before inconveniencing me.” He looked shyly up at Crowley. “I wish you would...ask for things, more often.”

Crowley blushed slightly. It wasn’t actually in his nature to be demanding, for all that he was a demon. “Well,” he began, “besides letting me cry some cake, I think there is something.”

Aziraphale’s eyes lit up. ‘Of course, Crowley! Anything!”

“The new Animal Crossing game looks pretty fun.”

“What’s an...there’s a game about animals crossing the road?”

**Author's Note:**

> Complete for now because I wanted to get this out somewhere in the vicinity of the Good Omens anniversary, but...if anyone wants a sickfic or fluff continuation...let me know. ;)


End file.
